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Daet Wolfuar

Lora sighed and rested his muzzle along his paw, looking out over the vast expanse revealed through the window yet, for once, not seeing any of it. Really he should have been stunned by the view afforded here, the solid and invisibly-reinforced glass looking out over the outside end of the star system at this time, with the long arm of the galaxy sweeping in from out of view in the distance, a speckled assortment of whites and blues and yellows and pale red-oranges against the deep, infinite blue-black of open space beyond.

When he had first come in, it truly had stunned him. In his line of work - counselor and therapist, combination psycho- and physiological, with a contract length and ownership negotiated somewhere out of his hands so he himself never saw the terms; there was a specific title for this job, but he didn't like using it - he rarely had the time or money to come to a place like this, the restaurant dubbed the Star of the System, brighter than even the warm yellow-orange sun a hundred million miles away cradled in its own little pocket of spacetime. It served delicacies and delights from all around the three galaxies, either imported or fresh-harvested and prepared from local plantations based on customer choice. Drinks brewed, stewed, or otherwise extracted from fruits, plants, and other things avoiding classification from...

That was what the menu said, at least, listed in the galaxies' seven most common languages, Lora's own coming in third. All of these different things, all of these wonderful and remarkable scents and aromas floating around in the artificially-maintained air and atmosphere - never recycled, the info panel at the bottom of the menu said, always fresh, from our extensive gardens on levels C3 to U17 - all new and fantastic and strange still fell flat against the fruit bat's thoughts and awareness.

Frankly, he was nervous, though he knew he had no reason to feel this way. In fact, through the training for his occupation the bat had been provided with ample reason to prevent these feelings: an important part of his responsibilities came to judging the proper treatment of his clients and patients, and it was more than just mental stability and emotional solace that he was expected to provide. Sometimes a helping hand involved literally just that; and sometimes it was his mouth instead, or, sometimes, his little tail.

Again, the terms of the contract were almost always out of his hands. On paper, Lora held the respectable position of a skilled and capable life-coach assistant; in practice he was little more than an indentured whore, as these particular treatments could be influenced and forced through payments between those exchanging his contract, or simply through clever manipulation of the system on the prat of the client themselves.

He liked the work - or, at least, most of it. He had always enjoyed helping out those in need, and no amount of coercion and distaste could change that. There was just always something he wished he didn't_have_ to do. A little over a year ago something in his life had changed, something as huge and drastic and spectacular as this very restaurant to which he had been invited, with the notice bearing the same signature as the one that had signed his contract last.

Marlowe. With some effort Lora managed to look away from the viewing window and back towards the wolf across from him, broad-shouldered with stark white fur dusted here and there with patches of grey and brown, like ash fallen from a volcano. Technically he was a wolfdog, though extensive surgery and under-the-table payments to government officials had worked their due to hide that little rogue streak of genetics from everything other than the DNA itself.

There was no reason for Lora to be nervous. He put on his best smile, one of his most valuable skills as well as the one that had likely saved his life countless times in the past, and reached for his fork and knife to continue eating. Marlowe had come into Lora's office a handful of times across his last four months as a contracted hire, always sitting there in his sharp, clean suit as though he were in a business meeting instead of a therapy session, and Lora would sit there alongside him, paws clasped between his knees, head forward and postured rounded just as he had been taught.

_Look small. Look vulnerable. It'll help them open up._Marlowe, this big, frightening wolf, scion of his family, inheritor of four separate star systems and all the companies and corporations based out of those systems. Even someone like him had their problems, and not all of those could be solved with money.

Not with money alone, at least. Technically Lora never saw a single cent, a single credit, of the payments Marlowe doled out to his contract-holder - but at the end of every session his personal device pinged with the notification of an incoming transaction. Two hundred, enough to pay his rent for the month; three hundred fifty; five hundred twenty-five, enough to settle all of his enforced debts with some left over; one thousand three hundred and forty-two, precisely the amount required to buy out his own contract.

"Go start your own firm," the attached note read. "I can tell you like the work, but not the imposed responsibilities. You've done wonders for me and the stability of my life. I'd like to return the favor. Marlowe."

_ _

The wolf across from him smiled, careful not to show deadly-sharp fangs in that little twitch and curl of his lips. "You're doing well for yourself, then?"

Lora held up a finger while he chewed, then swallowed. "Quite well," he responded, pushing down that nervousness. "More work than I'd had while indentured."

"Of course. That was my hope. Now, you're probably seeing this next part coming-"

There it was. The bat felt his heart drop into his stomach. 'I want you to work for me,' he's going to say. 'I took a risk letting you buy yourself out, and now you owe me. I want you to pay me back. I want you to-'

_ _

Marlowe spread his paws, trimmed and painted claws glimmering sharp and prim against his white fur. That same metallic void-black color he wore in other choice locations as well, designed to draw the eye and hold the gaze there: dyed fur along his lips, the edges of his ears, and around his eyes, themselves pale blue-white like the little sun in Lora's home system.

And, also, one or two other places. Marlowe had been only the fifth client where Lora had been the one to suggest and advance things to the physical treatment.

"I want to hire your services again. Same payment plan as before, but this time, seeing as you're your own boss, all of it will be going to you."

Lora's mouth dropped open. Marlowe held up a finger, painted claw catching the light.

"Of course I'll still tip as I did before, though. I'll let you write up the details of the contract, and then we can go from there. Do we have a deal? You can remain where you are, and I'll come by to visit. Relocating is expensive, I know."

For a moment the bat didn't know what to say. Fork forgotten in his paw, he say back in his chair and looked out the window again. The planet below, dusty red and brown, turned slowly in its own orbit, the shadows of its terrain stretching and distending out across the surface.

It truly was beautiful. He licked his lips, swallowed, and turned back to the wolf, unable to hide his smile of pleasure.

"It'll be good to work with you again, dear friend."

LomiDePuzlo

Lolo shifted and squirmed beneath the weight of the bovine over him, though Anya was trying her best so as not to squish the much smaller Locus. She had started out quite well, thick legs spread around his chest and head, arms positioned on either side of his legs with her rump raised and lifted, nearly squeezing the male back against the wall where he sat, but now that he had gotten to work, so to say, at this presented backside...

He had to wriggle and adjust to find enough room to breathe, and not only because Anya pushed and pressed back against his chest and squeezed the breath out of him. Both hands up, fingers squeezing at the soft pelt and softer flesh of her bared thighs, Lolo found himself caught between this wall and hot, slick, eager cow rump.

Already she was all he could smell or taste, and the way she repeatedly lifted and grinded back, smearing her body against his face and wiping his own saliva as well as her sweat and gathered arousal back over him, ensured that these scents would remain there for quite a while. The Locus swallowed again, slid his fingers in, turned his hands so that his palms spread out along her plush rump, and licked his lips.

Anya turned and looked over her shoulder, her wild red curls bouncing atop her head and around her shoulders with the movement. "What?" she panted, her long paintbrush tail flicking and swinging in anticipation. "Done already? I was... just getting started..."

Lolo swallowed again, chuckled - his breath bounced right back around his face, with the cow's tailhole giving a wink and twitch at the sensation - and then leaned in again. He slid his hands forward away from Anya's rump and wrapped them around her legs instead, effectively tugging her back against him, pressing the back of his head to the wall, and sealing his lips to that twitching tailhole. Already it had felt both his nose and his lips, touching and grazing and teasing, but now as he held there for a moment, feeling the way she twitched and clenched and pushed at those muscles, the male couldn't resist but flick his tongue forward and over.

Another shiver arced through the cow's body, ending in a flick of that tail over his head. Then another when he turned his tongue to swirl and slide over the puckered ridges, and again when he poked and prodded at the tight center - and yet again when he suckled softly along the rim, lips tight, moving forward while Anya's body shifted and squirmed over him. He could feel her shivering with the sensation, head back, eyes closed, back arched, one hand gripping his leg and the other underneath her body.

The bovine angled her lower body, tilting her rump up and back and grinding more fully against Lolo's face. Before long he didn't have to do any of it himself: Anya pressed and pushed and dragged her tailhole over his hanging tongue and lips, further smearing his face in her scent and leaving him slick and sticky with the heady, heavy musk of bovine arousal.

"Come on," she panted ahead of him. A little more adjustment, and then she was practically lying down atop the Locus, chest and head resting along his legs with her knees drawn forward and rump and tail still hiked. This time she moved both hands to where his had been a moment ago, fingers drawn in towards her slick tailhole, pressing into soft flesh and spreading herself. "I'm so..."

Lolo sat back, swallowed, swallowed again, and then swallowed a third time, trying his best to get down the slick stickiness clinging to his throat and lips. How could he say no to that? While he watched, while he wiped at his mouth and took a moment to catch his breath, Anya's rhythmic squeezing turned instead to a gentle, teasing push, the warm pink pucker of her tailhole turning to a visible ring, muscles straining and pulling both from the push and the spread.

Again Lolo leaned in, keeping his hands in place around her legs. He dragged his tongue up from between her legs to the base of her tail, coaxing that tailhole to clench shut again when he drew over the slightly-revealed inner flesh there, and then when he moved down to fix his mouth in place again, the curl and part began again, flaring out against and around his tongue, inviting him in further. Anya shivered, shuddered, gasped, clenched back around his invading tongue, let out a little moan...

...and then bucked and released a second, sharper moan, with a splash of hot liquid against the Locus's chest, positioned at an angle beneath her. He smirked, not pausing in his attention underneath her tail, but then slowed when that burst dropped down into a trickle and then from there grew again. After a moment he slid back out of the wet, deep kiss with her tailhole and instead just lay back to watch: still spreading herself, still pushing, the bovine had pushed herself over the edge and now between everything, shaking and shivering, emptied her bladder into a steady stream across Lolo's chest and belly, pooling around his hard shift and trickling down off of him.

It seemed as though she wanted and tried to stop, but couldn't. Tail lashing, legs shaking, Anya glanced behind herself again - "s-sorry, I... ah..." - and ended up in pushing another more forceful splash against the Locus's chest. He grinned and leaned in again, more slowly this time to wear that mark and scent over his skin, and as he ran his lips up along her tailhole and curled his tongue in again, he also brought one hand up, fingers and palm cupped to catch that dripping warmth. He lifted that hand up and in, spread his fingers, wiped that slickness back over her even while it still poured out of her, the extra sensation making her shiver, twitch, and push again. It kept on going, streaming down his body, thoroughly warming him, the faint scent curling up into his nose...

When Anya had first pinned him here to the wall, Lolo knew that he would be here for a while.

Peegus

The serval strode through the tall shelves as she did every day, comfortably wrapped in the cool shadows cast against the searing sun outside the building, the temperature in here further maintained and regulated by the countless books and all their pages lined up and standing strong. Four of them she clutched against her chest while she went, pace easy and relaxed, rounded ears and sharp eyes forward yet mind a hundred miles away, nestled between the pages of one of these other books.

This one sat on its proper shelf along the far wall at the other end of the library, though still she could not draw herself away from it. She turned the corner, curled her tail along the foot of the shelf, then turned again, and with a deft touch slid the first book off the stack, reached up, and socketed it in place in the empty spot just above her head. A quick glance verified the title and therefore location of the next one in line, and again her footpaws moved to carry her off to that section, while her mind and thoughts returned to the same place they had been all morning.

I can imagine him now - gods, but he has such a way with descriptions... like velvet, it said. Fur short and soft, shimmering in the sun like velvet. Certainly of noble birth; all the hints point to that even if it hasn't been explicitly revealed yet. It's so good - I mean, it's even in the specific words used to describe him. Regal stature, the confidence, the personality, the gaze wise beyond his age... sure, there's not a single noble in this world actually like that, but that's where the appeal comes from, isn't it? The idea that there might be, somewhere.

A smile touched the serval's lips as she turned the next corner and then started down the short flight of stairs, a series of five little sandstone steps cut into the floor of the library to adjust with the shifting height of the ground. These lower levels, even though they were only lower by a few feet at most, stayed noticeably cooler than the rest of the building, and as such held the older and more fragile volumes. Even here the shelves stood tall and strong, imported wood oiled and carefully maintained and managed so as not to deteriorate and crumble in the otherwise relentless desert heat and dryness.

When she had first come here it had been her task to oil the shelves, with the little pot and brush. Back then she had disliked the scent, but afterwards it had grown on her to the point where she had to stop and pull in a slow, steady breath every time she pushed through the library doors, and where she paused in her laundry to press her clothes to her nose and taste that scent again, heavy and rich, the broad, soft must of wood atop a deeper, lower sting of something close to alcohol yet not quite. Whatever it was, it sealed the moisture into the wood and kept it dark and sleek.

The serval reached up and ran her paws over the edge of one of the shelves. Dark and sleek, she thought. That's the way it described him, too. Not broad, but it's still clear he's had personal martial experience - I remember the way it described his arms and shoulders, when he reached across for his coat. That was dyed purple, too, purple and blue with silver threaded embroidery. Those are the colors of the kingdom of the eastern provinces - he's got to be a prince, or at least some kind of consort. Average height, not too built yet not too slim... wholly adequate in appearance other than his clothing, and yet he commands such presence and confidence, and-

_ _

And the serval nearly stumbled over someone suddenly coming out of the next aisle. Balance lost, she tumbled partially forward and nearly lost her grip on the three remaining books, though just as quickly felt them pressed back up against her chest - and when she caught herself, looked down to see a wholly adequate arm, strung with what might have been the lines of muscles used once or twice before, running up towards an extended shoulder.

That shoulder, bared beneath a loose-fitting linen shirt, bore a small marking or crest, a band accentuated with three marks underneath. The lion, just as startled as her, stood still for moment, then suddenly straightened up again, slipping his paw from where he had held her books against her chest. The serval nearly dropped them again, but managed to catch them herself this time.

"Hey," the lion said. "Sorry about that. I wasn't looking where I was going, and, well..." He glanced down, shifted his posture, and then looked back up again, eyes taking their time in ascending her body. "Now I'm looking at you."

The serval felt her smile start to return, a little curl lifting the edge of her mouth. She gave this lion the same treatment as he had her. The book had described the eastern prince as genuinely charming, not... whatever this was. Also, in the book he had a mane of burnished bronze, not a smooth, sleek lavender-grey, like a stormcloud settling into the growing sunset.

"So you are," she said after a moment. She glanced at the one book underneath his arm, unexpectedly thick. "May I help you with something? I'm shelving these; did you get that one by mistake?"

"What, this?" The lion lifted it up without looking at it. "No, no. I'm interested in this one. I'm - Jaali, by the way.

Jaali. A lyrical name. Likely the prettiest thing about him so far. The serval tilted her head to peek at the title of the book.

"You can read that dialect?"

He blinked. The serval's smile widened, and she reached forward to tap the cover.

"This is a scribe's copy of an older work discovered far to the north. Not only is the language it's written in antiquated, but it's a very particular, somewhat obscure dialect of the time as well."

Jaali's ears flicked. "Oh, well, perhaps you could teach me."

"Perhaps." She slid past him to continue on her way; a moment later her sensitive ears flicked back to the sound of soft footsteps on the stone floor after hers. "You're assuming that I know that dialect."

"I am. Do you?"

"Perhaps." She turned the next corner. Jaali had to skid on his footpaws to make the turn after her. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would. One of my friends runs the little tavern over near the western wall; if you're free after this, I'd love to take you there and treat you to a table and a few stories."

The serval paused, halfway stretched up to shelve the next book. She couldn't quite reach; after another second Jaali slid in alongside her - he smelled faintly of herbs and spices - and ran his fingers over hers, just enough to give the book an extra boost into its slot.

"I'm here all night," she went on. The lion slid back into place alongside her, trying his best not to let his ears flick with disappointment - which, she discovered, made her add a final "unfortunately."

Jaali looked down at the book in which he claimed to be interested. "Ah," he said. "That's a shame."

Two books left. She looked from them to him and back.

"So it is," she said, then turned to continue on her way. This time no footsteps followed. When she reached the end of the aisle she saw that Jaali had not moved from where he stood - though upon noticing her look at him, he perked up and put on his best face.

"I'm Mo, by the way," the serval said, with a tilt of the head and flick of the ear. "If you're intent on learning how to read that, I expect you'll be spending quite a bit of time here."

His grin returned, bit by bit. "I assume you have some other books on it here?"

"Perhaps."

"Could you show me, sometime?"

Mo returned his grin. "Perhaps."